


Nighttime Visitors

by Euterpein



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Other, Post-Canon, Sentient Bookshop (Good Omens), Spooky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-24
Updated: 2020-10-24
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:27:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27155203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Euterpein/pseuds/Euterpein
Summary: The shadow’s target came into view: a shop, looming in its own crooked way over the Soho street, its blinds drawn and its light snuffed out.The shadow smiled.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 28
Collections: SOSH - Guess the Author #7 "Big Spooky Fan Me."





	Nighttime Visitors

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the SOSH server's 7th round of the "Guess That Author" game! The prompt was "Big Spooky Fan, Me."

In the deepest depths of night, a shadow moved. 

The thick fog curling through the London streets swirled cautiously around the shadow, nipping at its heels before spinning away again, rebuffed. 

The shadow paid it no mind.

The shadow’s target came into view: a shop, looming in its own crooked way over the Soho street, its blinds drawn and its light snuffed out.

The shadow smiled. 

The shop’s lock was a laughable thing. Barely a flick of the wrist and it was open, the bronze clicking quiety as the door was eased open and the bell stoppered up with a clever motion.

The shadow was inside then. The shop was stuffy and ancient, crammed with old books and the scents of tea and dust and paper. The dull ticking of a grandfather clock somewhere within was the only sound. 

The shadow waited delved further into the shop, letting its fingers run over the polished wood and leather of the shelves as it passed by. Near the back, it stopped again.

The shadow reached into its pocket and drew out a shiny silver lighter. 

There was a sharp noise and the bright flash of flame. The shadow gazed at it for a moment, enraptured as it always was by the glow. 

The world seemed to hold its breath as the silver lighter arced slowly towards a pile of books on a table, the flicker of the flame dancing along their spines.

The shadow smiled. It could almost hear the music of the fire, could almost smell the smoke. 

The lighter went out.

The shadow frowned. There was no wind in the absolute stillness of the shop. It tried again, bringing forth the flame, only to have it go out again. 

One of the books on the table twitched, as though tugged, and landed with a heavy _thud_ on the floor. The shadow blinked at it. Another, from behind this time. Then more, one after the other, flinging themselves from the shelves with increasing force. 

The shadow dodged a book that was flung straight at its chest. Another hit it in the leg, _hard_ , and then on the head as it bent over in pain. All around it, books and statues and artifacts long past began to move, and all towards the shadow.

The shadow ran. It caught a blow to the ribs and wheezed, winded, limping towards the door. Its hand finally closed around the door handle and it threw itself back out into the welcoming, engulfing fog.

\---------------

“Angel,” Crowley said from the other side of the bed, gazing at Aziraphale in the soft lamplight. 

“Hmm?” Aziraphale turned the page in his book.

“Did you ever have any issues with those shifty blokes that came around the other day? The ones who wanted to buy the shop?

“Who, them?” Aziraphale wrinkled his nose in distaste at the memory. “No, no trouble. Not a peep.”

Crowley hummed thoughtfully. “Good,” he said, getting comfortable again. “That’s good.”

Around them, the bookshop settled, content.


End file.
